


a song for someone who needs somewhere to long for

by withthepilot



Series: Homesick [2]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Comfort, Divorce, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Divorce, Rimming, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karl always seems to know what Chris needs when he's hurting. But when it's Karl who's hurting, Chris finds himself waiting to be needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a song for someone who needs somewhere to long for

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this a while ago, around the time that Karl separated from his wife. I couldn't get the idea out of my head to do a sequel to "[what it was that made you strong (what it was that made you weak)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1050782)." You don't have to read the first story to understand this one, but it couldn't hurt! It's only 3K. Fair warning that it does include an open marriage. This story takes place post-separation, so Karl is single.
> 
> Title from "Homesick" by Kings of Convenience.

Chris can’t do anything. The first time he hears about Karl’s separation from his wife—reads about it, actually, thanks to a Google alert, because Chris is the kind of person who has Google alerts set up for people he sleeps with, either on a regular or semi-regular basis—he sips his iced mocha on his terrace and comes back repeatedly to that one thought: He can’t do anything.

Or, well, he _could_. But between Karl’s failed TV show and now, his failed marriage, he figures it’s probably best to let Karl be for a while, until the initial hoopla is over. Karl will contact Chris when he’s ready. 

He makes it six days before he sends Karl a text. He types with one hand as he sits in his car, stuck in traffic. 

_Heard the news. So sorry. You ok?_

For two days, the urge to text again is like a persistent ache in Chris’ side. He finally gets a text back while he’s out with friends. He doesn’t even see it until two hours after Karl sends it, when he’s outside the club, smoking a cigarette.

_Not really but I will b, I guess. How about u?_

Chris will never tire of Karl’s propensity for replacing words with single letters. He smiles as he texts back.

_I’m good. Mostly worried about you._

_Dont b. Call u soon._

This time, the text arrives right away. He flicks his cigarette into the gutter and nods. That’s that, he supposes.

*

Chris waits another week or so before he gives in to the blinding urge to call. 

“Hello,” Karl says. The word comes through as more of a resigned sigh than a greeting. He sounds exhausted. Chris winces in sympathy.

“Well, you’re still alive. That’s a good sign.”

Karl sighs again. “I am. I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

“Don’t be sorry. I totally get it. I probably should have left you alone but I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

“You always were one for instant gratification,” Karl says. Chris thinks he can hear a hint of a smile in his voice. It’s a small victory but a victory nonetheless. 

“You should come bother me,” Chris says. Because that’s what he did the last time his heart got broken, and even though he knows deep down that he and Karl are very different people who deal with their shit in _very_ different ways, Chris thinks he would feel just the slightest bit validated if Karl actually acted like he needed him. Just once. “I’m sort of between things right now. Totally wouldn’t mind if you needed to escape the paps and hide out here for a while.”

“Eh,” Karl says, a sound that disappoints Chris to his core. “I’m sticking to my plan of hunkering down and waiting for the storm to pass. Though I appreciate the offer. I’ve got a boatload of U.S. cons scheduled over the next few months, so I’m sure we’ll find each other…catch up eventually.”

“Right,” Chris says. He swallows past the thick feeling in his throat. “That’ll be good.”

*

Except it doesn’t happen. Karl doesn’t so much find him as much as he goes on living his Chris-free life, and that doesn’t suit Chris’ interests at all. 

So one day, armed with high hopes and a few weeks worth of facial hair, he packs a bag, throws it in his car, and drives to Las Vegas. He books a hotel room under “Jake Hardin” and grabs one of the convention programs sitting on the concierge’s desk, flipping through it on his way up the elevator.

After one sixteen-dollar sandwich and two hours of _NCIS_ reruns, Chris makes his way down to the main ballroom, where Karl is scheduled to speak. He doesn’t expect anyone to recognize him, what with his beard, sunglasses, and L.A. Dodgers hat, but he’s pretty sure he feels a few lingering stares and double takes thrown his way. It _is_ a sci-fi con, after all, and people’s celebrity radars are on high alert. 

Chris stands in the back of the ballroom and watches Karl entertain the masses, doing all the voices the crowd wants to hear and responding with genuine laughter to every joke and question from the audience. He’s perfect, a grinning supernova, and Chris wants to be near him so badly that his toes curl in his Converse.

At one point toward the end, a young girl gasps in his direction. Busted. Chris puts a finger to his lips and waves her over, then writes on her program: _Thanks for not blowing my cover. xoxo, Chris Pine_. She nods firmly and looks so grateful that she could cry—and hell, the feeling is mutual.

After the program is over, he takes off his sunglasses at the most strategic moment—namely, when he needs to get backstage. No one here is going to say no to Captain Kirk, after all. A “Yes, Mr. Pine” here and a “Right this way, Mr. Pine” there, and Chris is finally, _finally_ a mere few feet away from Karl. 

“Hey,” he says, and when Karl turns, his eyes are wide and shocked.

“I must be dreaming, right? You couldn’t possibly be deigning to show your face at one of these things. Or, well, part of your face,” Karl says, motioning to Chris’ beard. Chris laughs and shrugs. 

“You like it?”

“I could get used to it. With a trim, anyway. Jesus, c’mere, you monkey.”

With Karl’s arms wrapped tightly around him, his familiar scent buzzing all around, the drive out to Vegas feels totally worth it. Chris doesn’t quite melt into the embrace, but it’s a close thing. 

“I can trim,” he says into Karl’s shoulder. “Or shave. Whatever.”

“Only if you want to.” Karl leans back and smiles crookedly at Chris, still holding him by the shoulders with strong hands. “What are you even doing here?”

Chris shrugs, wondering how honest he should be. “You didn’t find me.”

“That’s true, I didn’t. Not yet.” Karl’s smile fades as he looks Chris over. “I’d say sorry, but…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Chris adjusts his hat and chews his bottom lip. Maybe he made a mistake doing this, coming here. “Listen, I can go if it’s weird or too soon. No biggie.”

Karl scoffs. “Now who’s being ridiculous? You’re here and I want to spend time with you. Got any dinner plans?”

“No, but I already made friends with the room service guy and I think he’s going to be disappointed if I bail on him.”

“He’ll live. Come on.”

He slings an arm around Chris’ shoulders, squeezing gently, and Chris has to remind himself that it’s Karl who needs comforting this time. Karl is the one who’s hurting. 

“If you’re buying, I want sushi,” he says, leaning into Karl’s side.

*

“It’s very manly,” Karl says. He reaches out and strokes Chris’ beard lightly, with one fingertip. “Is it for a role?”

Chris shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer. “It’s for the role of ‘Anyone but Me’ during the extent of my time at this sci-fi convention.”

“So you planned this.”

“I stopped shaving to account for the possibility of this, yes.”

“Aha,” Karl says, drinking his own beer. Behind them, the rest of the bar buzzes noisily with young, beautiful, intoxicated people. Chris has to smile, realizing that he and Karl are probably some of the oldest people in the room. The decor is all white and blue and frosted glass. Chris kind of hates everything about it—everything except Karl beside him at the bar, of course.

“I know I’m probably way out of line here,” he admits. Karl shrugs and drums his fingers against his bottle.

“It’s fine, really. But it’s not as though I was never going to come and see you. I’m just…I’m different from you, Chris. I know I did come to you that one time, but that was just the once.”

“I know, and I get that.” Chris tries to concentrate on peeling the edges of his bottle’s label rather than thinking about that one time, when Karl dropped to his knees in the middle of Chris’ kitchen and took what he needed. He coughs so as not to visibly shiver. “In the end, it’s totally possible that I did this more for me than for you. So I’m sorry about that.”

Karl shakes his head. “Don’t ever feel sorry for wanting to be near me, Chris. I want that, too. Even if I’m being an idiot about it. This time it’s just…” He exhales heavily, glancing down and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s so much. And so much more difficult than I ever expected it to be.”

Chris nods and wishes he could press his face to Karl’s shoulder, brush his mouth against Karl’s ear. He wishes everyone else in the bar would disappear and leave them to this moment, to each other. But that’s not what Karl wants. Karl wants to be alone, to lick his wounds and hide from the world for a while. He doesn’t need Chris to hold him or fuck him or promise him that things will be okay. And Chris has to accept that, he knows.

“I can’t even imagine,” Chris says, and he means it. “You should take as much time as you need.” To his own surprise, he means that, too. 

“Thanks, Pine.” Karl smiles at him and Chris feels his heart melt at the sight, even as it sinks down into his stomach. “Think I ought to pack it in after this. You staying at the hotel?”

Chris nods and pulls out his wallet to pay. “Yeah, under ‘Jake Hardin.’”

“That’s the Lindsay Lohan flick, right? I liked that one.”

“Well, you were the only one.”

*

A few weeks later, Chris’ phone rings while he has his ear to the rounded side of a cantaloupe. He picks it up without looking at the caller.

“You still got that beard?” Karl says, by way of a greeting. Chris grins and puts the melon in his shopping cart.

“No beard but can I interest you in an alluring amount of stubble, grown over the past two days?”

“That depends. Is it cage-free?”

“That it is. And gluten-free.”

Karl laughs, sounding like himself again. “Well, hot damn. Tell the store to put it on hold for me.”

*

Chris watches from the doorway to the guest room as Karl unpacks his suitcase and stashes his clothes in dresser drawers. The television is still blaring background noise from the living room and Chris bounces on his toes, trying to hold back a very immature whine.

“You sure this is okay for you?” he asks, ever hopeful. Karl nods and putters around, not quite looking at him.

“Yeah, this is perfect.” He pauses, searching for his next words. “I think I just need the company right now, more than anything else. Cons are all done and I figured I could go back home but…”

“Well, stay as long as you like, of course. You’re always welcome. Plus, I’m awesome company.”

Karl slides a shirt onto a hanger. “Tonight, you’re good company. By tomorrow, you’ll be falling asleep on the sofa with a mouthful of half-eaten, unswallowed pizza.”

“Okay, that only happened once, on the first press tour, and I was tired. _Time zones_ , Karl.”

“And you impressed us all with your studly magnificence.”

“Seriously, though. If you change your mind…”

“I know. Thanks.” Karl nods and finishes up with the clothes hangers. “What’s on the docket for tomorrow, anyway?”

“Um, I figured breakfast and some script reads in the morning. Then I was thinking I could use some new jeans.”

Karl gives him a pointed look. “You could, yes.”

“Okay, so we’ll go shopping. Unless that sounds too boring.”

“It actually sounds blissfully boring enough.”

“Good.” Chris smiles, then cringes as something else occurs to him. “Oh, crap. I’m supposed to have dinner with my parents and my sister on Thursday night. I dunno if you’d want to go to that, though.”

Karl sits on the bed and shrugs. It’s clear to Chris that he has no idea how utterly devastating he looks, sitting in Chris’ house and gazing openly at him as if this, all of this, doesn’t mean the entire fucking world to Chris.

“I will if you want me to. Your family’s great. Been a while since I sat down with them to split a crate of wine.”

Chris grins. “We try to keep it to three bottles per dinner now, max.”

“That’s oddly disappointing. Surely they can accommodate a fourth for an out-of-town guest.”

“As if they’d really need an excuse.”

*

It’s how it goes for a few days. They eat meals together, trading off on cooking duties. Chris drives them around town for lattes, clothes shopping, and other random errands. He falls asleep on the sofa sometimes, but never with food in his mouth, luckily. Karl takes phone calls with his divorce lawyer when he thinks Chris is preoccupied and not paying attention.

They _don’t_ have sex in the Levi’s dressing room, which is all kinds of depressing. Chris jerks off in the shower on a daily basis.

They end up having to sleep over at Chris’ parents’ house after the dinner party because everyone is way too drunk to drive. His sister calls dibs on the guest bedroom that’s closest to the bathroom, which is fine because it’s her old room anyway.

“I’m sorry, boys,” Chris’ mother says, with just the slightest bit of a slur to her voice. “We only have one other spare room right now because we’re redecorating the third one. Do you mind sharing a bed?”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Chris offers, keeping Karl’s wishes in mind—no small feat, after about six glasses of wine.

“No way,” Karl says, grabbing Chris by the wrist. “I’ve seen that bed; it’s huge. We can share. C’mon, Pine.”

“We’re surrounded by Pines,” Chris says, giggling as he follows Karl’s lead. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Pine means you and it always has, Pine.”

They toe off their shoes and socks and kind of fall into bed, still mostly clothed. Chris makes a noise of surprise when Karl drags him closer across the mattress, a strong arm wrapped possessively around his waist.

“Thought you wanted space,” Chris murmurs. “I can…I can give you space. Bed is big.”

“Quiet, monkey.” 

Karl tucks his nose above Chris’ ear and Chris can smell every puff of wine-soaked breath emanating from his lips. Normally, he would hate that sort of thing, but right now, with Karl, it’s the best smell ever. He shuts his eyes and tries to turn off his brain but it ends up being fairly impossible.

“Hey, Karl,” he whispers, after a few moments.

“Wha’sit?”

“Remember when I visited you in Vancouver…?”

Karl grunts his assent. “Wha’ about it?”

“It was…” Chris blinks slowly into the darkness of the room. “It was like you knew exactly what I needed. How I needed it. How’d you do that?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, during which Chris wonders if Karl’s fallen asleep, before he hums faintly and shrugs.

“Dunno. Just know you.”

Chris licks his lips, tasting wine stains. “Oh. Well, in that case…I guess I wish I knew you as much as you know me.”

“Shh. You’re doing fine.” He kisses the side of Chris’ head and Chris feels it, all the way down to his toes. “Now stop thinking so much and sleep with me.”

“Okay, fine,” Chris says, relaxing into Karl’s arms. Again, it’s like Karl knows exactly what he needs, because he’s out like a light in mere seconds.

*

Two days later, Karl wanders into the living room where Chris is busy binge-watching _Top Chef_.

“Hey, you got a printer stashed somewhere?” Karl asks.

“Yeah, in the study,” Chris says, motioning with his thumb. “It’s one of those print-scan-fax jobs.”

“Oh, brilliant. Then I can just print them out and scan them to send back.”

“Print what?”

Karl clears his throat. “My divorce papers.”

Chris blinks, momentarily stunned. “Oh,” he says, staring up at Karl. “Did they…email them to you?”

“My lawyer’s done talking to her lawyer, so…voila.” Karl shrugs and gives him a pathetic excuse for a smile. “We live in the age of efficiency, I suppose.”

“Do you want me to…I dunno, be there when you sign them?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Karl says, already walking out of the room. “You keep watching TV.”

“Shout if you need me,” Chris says.

Karl doesn’t shout, of course. Or need him. Instead, he comes back twenty minutes later, stalks through the living room to grab his coat off the rack, and mutters, “Going for a walk,” before he leaves the house without further fanfare.

Chris hooks his chin over the couch cushion, the sound of the slammed door ringing in his ears, and does exactly what he’s trained himself to do by now. 

He waits.

*

Chris wakes from a doze hours later to find Karl standing in front of him, waving delicious-smelling bags of takeout in his face.

“Best wakeup call ever,” he says groggily. Then he squints up at Karl. “Wait, did you walk all the way to and from the drive-thru? Who walks in L.A., dude?”

“Well, I was wandering for a while and I ended up there,” Karl says, shrugging. “Then I took a cab home. And I ordered inside, not with the cars, thank you very much.”

“Glad you came to your senses. Gimme.” Chris reaches for a bag and opens it just enough to stick his face in the In-N-Out bag and inhale. “Oh, god. I love you in a really romantic way right now.”

Karl smirks and goes to the kitchen to fetch plates. “I assume you’re talking to the burger.”

“Well, duh,” Chris says. He tries to hide his blush behind the bag.

They sit down to eat on the couch and watch the least offensively movie they can find playing on cable— _21 Jump Street_ , as it turns out, which happens to be a lot funnier than Chris expected. He’s contemplating the comic timing of Channing Tatum and licking some leftover salt from his fingers when he feels Karl shift closer, his arm sliding behind him on the cushion and his body heat right up against Chris’ side. Karl starts to lean closer, just touching his nose to Chris’ shoulder, and Chris swallows—possibly audibly.

“What, did the burger make you horny?” he murmurs, trying for humor or something like it.

Karl’s gaze lowers as he looks at Chris’ salt-slick mouth. “Not the burger,” he says.

After that, all bets are off. Chris slots his mouth against Karl’s, just the way he’s been dying to for days. Karl grasps Chris’ face in both hands, holding him in place, just the way he wants him. Chris blindly reaches out for the remote to mute the TV and Karl uses his leverage to tip Chris onto his back, inserting himself between Chris’ thighs. 

“I—I don’t want to be gentle with you,” Karl mutters against his throat, scraping Chris’ Adam’s apple with his teeth. “Is that okay?”

“It’s fine, it’s good, you can do whatever you want,” Chris says, already panting.

Karl lifts his head, his pupils wide and dark. “What I want is to take you apart.”

Chris lets out a small, helpless moan. “I’m okay with that.”

Karl probably hasn’t had _that_ much more fight training than Chris, but it still seems ridiculously easy for him to flip Chris onto his stomach and then up on his knees. Chris can barely process what’s happening before he realizes his ass is bare, sticking up shamelessly, and Karl is diving in like a man ready to _feast_. The hot, hot breath against Chris’ opening, combined with Karl’s hands prying his cheeks apart, makes Chris shudder all over. When Karl’s tongue enters the equation, Chris gives up on any sense of decorum and starts moaning loudly into the couch cushion.

“Hold yourself open for me,” Karl nearly growls, pulling back for a moment. Chris complies because, Jesus, how could he not?

“O-okay, but don’t let me come on the couch. It’s pretty new.”

Karl chuckles and nips at his ass cheek. “Whatever you say, monkey.” 

After that, Chris is no longer capable of sparing a single thought for the couch, not with Karl corkscrewing his tongue into his ass, sharp and deep like he wants to eat him alive from the inside. He stops making sense when Karl slides his tongue sloppily all the way down Chris’ crack and perineum, reduced to short words reserved for begging, like _please_ and _fuck_ and _yes_. When Karl finally puts his hand on Chris’ cock, it’s like someone tripping the wire on a time bomb. The world shorts out around him as he bucks into Karl’s grip, sobbing his release.

It sure as hell beats jerking off in the shower, too.

“Jesus, Chris. So fucking beautiful, so patient, so… _fuck_.” 

Chris is slumped forward on the couch, too fucked out to move, but it doesn’t seem to deter Karl. He pushes Chris’ T-shirt up his back, exposing more skin to the air. For a few seconds, all Chris hears is grunting and muttering, until Karl moans his name and slick warmth spills over his lower back. Chris sighs and exhales, feeling filthy and used, but also so, so fucking _good_.

“Don’t let it get in my ass,” he mumbles into the cushion. Karl lets out a gust of shaky laughter and finds something to clean him with, presumably his own shirt. “You let me come on the couch, didn’t you?”

“Nope,” Karl says. He reaches beneath Chris to procure the empty In-N-Out bag he stuffed down there when Chris wasn’t looking. Chris blinks at it and snorts.

“I’m almost impressed.”

“Almost?” Karl says, scoffing. “That was MacGyver-level foresight.” He manhandles them both into a semi-upright position. “I want to kiss you but I reckon I shouldn’t.”

“Why?” Chris asks, blinking hazily. “Oh, right. Well, normally I’d agree but I might actually die if you don’t, so just watch the tongue.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Karl says. He obliges Chris with a soft press of lips.

Chris doesn’t realize he’s trembling until Karl places a firm hand on his thigh, holding him still.

“Thank you,” Karl murmurs. “For putting up with me.”

Chris laughs, unable to help himself. “I think it’s pretty clear by the way I stalked you all the way to some random con that I _like_ putting up with you, Urban. I want to put up with you all the time.”

“I could be up for that,” Karl says. “Once I work out all my shit. Which, as you can see, may take a fair amount of time.” He kisses the top of Chris’ head and Chris relaxes against him.

“I’m good at waiting,” he says.

*

And he is good at waiting. But Chris decides right then and there that he’s not going to wait any longer to get Karl in his bed. Because after a surprise rimjob on the couch, there’s no real need for prudence. At Chris’ insistence, Karl switches rooms that night, and he also goes a few rounds with a bottle of Listerine before sliding under the covers. 

Then they’re wrapped around each other in bed, trading lazy kisses as Karl pins Chris’ upper body with his own. Chris thinks of Vancouver and shivers from the sense-memory, from an overwhelming sense of sheer _rightness_ in the world. Karl gathers him closer, likely assuming Chris is cold, and Chris doesn’t stop him.

“I think,” Karl says, sliding a leg between Chris’, “that you might know what I need better than you think you do.”

“Well, I think you may need to wake me up in the morning with a blowjob. And pancakes. For your own good, of course.”

“Mmm, you’re pretty close. But what I really need is a wakeup blowjob from _you_ , and then to bury my cock in your arse.”

Chris flushes. “You sure about that?”

“Well, we may be different people, but sometimes what you need is what I need, too.” He presses his mouth hotly to Chris’ ear, whispering. “And you definitely need my cock in your arse.”

“Okay,” Chris says, exhaling in a rush and sitting up to adjust the pillows. “We’re going to sleep right now so the morning comes faster.”

“Like a kid on Christmas Eve,” Karl says, chuckling.

“All your sexy fault.”

And then it’s quiet and still. Chris falls asleep to the pleasant memory of Karl’s laughter, the grounding sensation of Karl’s fingers curled in his hair, and the tremendous relief that comes from holding Karl close and not being pushed away.


End file.
